Beyond the Endless Sky

Chapter 11

"Armament?" The captain asked.

Panic held Clarissa in its vice, and she stared without understanding what the captain wanted her to report. It took a monumental effort just to kick her thoughts back into motion. "Leslie, he said something about six-pounders. Which seems really light for a cannon. He said there are seven on the closest ship," Clarissa reported. Being able to speak came with a warm wave of relief, and she realized that she had been shaking.

"Understood. Hang tight, I'm on my way," the captain said.

In the meantime, Leslie had turned the Banshee until it's menacingly long barrel was facing the nearest ship. The gunnery officer was shoving a shell longer than his forearm into the breach. The sharp thud of the latch snapping shut made Clarissa jump, as much from fear as surprise.

"Clarissa, you should get below," Leslie said, as he reached for a set of levers just behind the gun. He paused, reached into a nearby container, and tossed something towards her. Clarissa caught them by the wide band, and found herself holding what looked like a pair of earmuffs. "Put those on, just in case I fire."

"Understood," Clarissa said. She began to pull the pads over her ears, when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mercy and the captain marching towards them.

Mercy had a wide-barrelled gun in her hand, resting over one shoulder, and was holding a sack of canisters that looked like tins of food in her other hand. The captain had the sword and the rifle he normally wore, and was already unfolding a spyglass.

"Mercy, give us some smoke," the captain said, just loudly enough that Clarissa could hear. Mercy split off from the captain and leapt over the nearby safety rails. She stopped only when she reached the side rails of the ship, set the bag down beside her, and pulled the gun's straps off her shoulder.

The captain stopped beside Clarissa, and gestured to Leslie without looking at him. Leslie recognized the request and tossed another set of earmuffs to him. The captain put them around his neck, and looked through the spyglass. "Six pounders, old infinity pieces. Accurate to half a mile, maximum range about half that again. Mixture of round and canister shot. Long as they think they can catch us, they won't take shots at the propellers or the bag," the captain said quietly. He turned to Clarissa and smiled. "We'll be fine. These poor fools don't know who they picked a fight with. If they did, they would have stayed beneath the trees."

"They're running their engines hard, captain," Leslie called out. "They can't keep their speed up for long. We can outrun them."

"No guarantees they won't try a potshot at us. And I can't let them rattle the Child, not with our cargo," the captain replied. "Solid round?"

Leslie nodded in response.

"Good. Let's put them down hard," the captain said. He turned to Mercy and flicked his hand, miming a pistol's hammer swinging down.

Mercy pointed her gun in the air and fired. A grey canister streaked through the sky, spitting a trail of thick red smoke. The captain stared at the smoke for a few seconds, and something about his mannerism changed. The change was as pronounced as it was when he visited Yannick, but in exactly the opposite way. His voice rose in volume, deepened slightly, and carried authority. Clarissa found herself standing up straighter and waiting as attentively as if the Abbess herself were giving orders.

"Wind speed, thirty-two miles an hour, direction matching our heading. Updraft of warm air from the ground. Volante standard pull is three yards per second. Range is 1,900 yards," the captain said, his voice thundering over the wind and the engines. "Aim for the lead ship, target their engine, adjust one notch left and two up. Let me know when you have the target."